Chapter 48

Porthos and Aramis rode in silence. The sun had set by the time they had left the farm, and Porthos held a torch to help guide their path. The quarter moon was hidden with heavy dark clouds that hinted at rain but failed to produce. The winds had settled and teased a subtle breeze that caused the leaves to flutter and the grasses and weeds to gently sway. An owl hooted in the distance and then was followed by a reply behind them. Squirrels chattered, scampered, and sounded warnings as predators sought their evening meals.

Once they rode past the fields of the farm, the terrain changed from vast openness to thickly wooded hills that were difficult to traverse. The horses bravely pushed through branches, overgrown weeds and bushes, and even occasionally rogue patches of thistle.

Porthos pulled his horse to a stop when the branches of the trees grew less overcasting and the darkness of the sky became more visible except for the few stars in the distance. The valley, even at night, looked vast as the light of Porthos' torch glowed. They had ridden slower than anticipated. The flames flickered and waved with each step forward.

Aramis squinted into the darkness and tilted his head, listening for the water. The valley was massive, and Athos could be anywhere. Aramis felt his heart clench and his lungs tighten as hope dwindled. The question they both had, but failed to ask, was where do they start their search and how? Aramis had no idea what kind of condition Athos was in: was he conscious, could he see and tried to return, was he able to call to them if he by chance heard them?

The rains had softened the valley floor and Aramis looked down when his horse stepped into a mud puddle.

"Porthos," Aramis said, "hold up."

Porthos pulled his horse to a stop and turned to look at Aramis. "Did you see somethin'?"

"I think we're near the gully?" Aramis dismounted, took the torch from Porthos and then pointed it toward the downward slope and the stones that had been exposed from the rainwater that had eroded the topsoil, the dirt, and created a narrow stream.

"Athos!" Porthos shouted.

Aramis raised the torch higher, and then pulling on the reins, urged his horse to jump the stream. He awkwardly climbed the slope on the other side. His horse obeyed, yanked on the reins, and then settled once across. "Athos!" Aramis called and raised the torch higher.

Porthos followed Aramis across. "We must be near the ridge. I can 'ear the water below."

Porthos dismounted, walked beside Aramis while the horses followed behind, catching bites of grass when they occasionally slowed.

They continued to search, calling frequently, and stopping to listen. When the torch started to dim, Porthos removed another piece of fat soaked jute from the bundle Eve had given him and carefully wrapped it around the top of the torch and then it again glowed brightly.

"Athos!" Aramis called once more.

"I should't 'ave left 'im," Porthos said. He clenched his jaw, flared his nostrils, and tightened his fingers around the reins and the torch.

"They might have killed you, Porthos," Aramis said, "had you stayed."

Porthos grunted, but kept quiet. He didn't want to think about it. The longer they walked, the more guilty and fearful he became. "What would you do?" Porthos finally asked. The question had burdened him for days, and he wanted to hear an answer from someone other than himself. He needed to know he wasn't alone in his thoughts. "If you lost your sight… an' couldn't fight anymore. If you couldn't defend your king… your queen?" He paused and then slowly exhaled. "If you couldn't defend the innocent."

Aramis swallowed, and instead of looking at Porthos, he looked into the distance. His first thoughts were of the queen, the beauty of her features, the intricacy of her smile, and the delicacy of her hands. He would have to forever remember her touch, the feel of her fingers across his skin, and the touch of her lips against his. But he had spent years looking at her face, memorizing each curve, the brilliance of her blue eyes, the way her hair changed color in the sun, and the elegant curve of her neck. While he swore he could never forget it… there was a piece of him that knew that it would fade over time. Blindness would prevent him from seeing her age, from seeing the lines near her mouth appear after years of smiling and laughing. Even the lines on her forehead as she worried over their son… Aramis hitched his breath. Blindness would prevent him from seeing their child grow into a man. It would prevent him from growing old with her, and he caught his breath in his throat once more. The sight of her was all he had of her.

"I'd become a monk," Aramis said sadly. He pulled at the corner of his mustache and squinted into the darkness. "And you?"

Porthos looked into the distance and looked toward the moon that was still hidden and wished it would make an appearance. "I don't know." He thought about the musketeers he had known who had lost their ability to protect the king and queen throughout the years. Those whose injuries prevented them from returning to the regiment. Many had returned home to their estates, to their families, and an unfortunate few had turned to wine and women. A couple had even been lost to their own self-destruction. "Athos!" Porthos called once more.

"It could be temporary," Aramis said. "His blindness."

"And if it's not," Porthos said. "What then?"

It was a question Aramis couldn't answer, and one he didn't want to think about. There were a few monasteries for the blind, for those with special needs, but he couldn't see Athos there. If Athos had family, it would just be a matter of getting him home, but he had no family and his home had been destroyed. Aramis' heart suddenly clenched, and he thought about the fate of a brother whose future was questionable.

"Athos!" Porthos suddenly shouted and took several rushed steps forward.

Aramis paused and then grabbed the reins of Porthos' horse when he dropped them and sprinted forward. Aramis tugged on the reins and urged the horses into a trot behind him as he followed.